He wound his long arms around his enemy, but the strength of his manhood was gone, and without effort Paul threw him on one side. Then, through the smoke, he found himself face to face with Guiseppe.
"This way, Signor!" he said coolly. "Follow me closely!"
The old Count was up again, and seemed about to attack them. Suddenly he changed his mind, and with a hoarse cry, ran down an empty corridor. Guiseppe and Paul turned in the opposite direction.
"We must fly, Signor!" the man cried. "He goes to the cellars! He is a devil! He will blow up the castle! Cover up your nose and your mouth!"
They hurried along wide, deserted corridors, down stone stairs, and finally reached what seemed to be a circular underground passage. Round and round they went, until Paul's head swam; but the air was cooler, and every moment brought relief. Suddenly there was a cold breeze. They turned one more corner, and Guiseppe stopped. They were in an open aperture facing the sea, barely twenty feet below. A small boat with a single man in it was there waiting.
"Dive!" cried Guiseppe. "We must not wait for the rope!"
Over they went almost simultaneously. The shock of the cold water sent the blood dancing once more through Paul's veins. He came to the surface just after his guide, cool and refreshed. They scrambled into the boat, and Paul gave a little cry of wonder. They were drifting on a sea of ruddy gold, and the space all around them was brilliant with the reflection. High above, the flames were leaping up towards the sky, and the dull sing-song of their roar set the very air vibrating. Guiseppe, still dripping, seized an oar.
"Pull, for your lives! pull!" he cried anxiously.
His companion shrugged his shoulders. "But why?"